Gillian Saga VIII - Moments - First Time
by monica.prelooker
Summary: Because I wanted to know what happened after they get into that elevator, and because it turned out to be sweet and fun rather than smutty. One of a very few short writings on the aftermath of the Saga.
1. Chapter 1

As soon as the booth is closed, Hotch turns to her, but she raises her hand between them. He frowns.

"Would you grant me a fantasy?" she seriously asks, and clarifies. "An erotic fantasy. Here. Now."

"There are security cameras, Gillian."

She raises her eyebrows —so? He cautiously nods. Then she bites her lower lip, eyes on his, as she grabs his gray tie and slowly pulls from him. Hotch leans at her pull and finds her lips, his hand on her waist to keep her close.

She steps back, pulling from him, till her back finds the booth's wall, and softly bites at his lips. Hotch sticks to her, pressing her against the wall, opening his mouth to find her tongue.

The boot tinkles then and stops. Hotch breaks the kiss and meets her eyes again. She lets go of his tie as he stretches out a hand to keep the booth open.

"One day I'm gonna catch you with your red tie…" she murmurs, right by his lips.

He arches his eyebrows with a quick smile and his hand presses her back.

"Shall we?" he says.

They exit the booth and Hotch keeps his hand against her back, as he unlocks his car with the remote.

"Are we picking up Jack to go have dinner?" she casually asks, loving how he's in a hurry to leave with her.

"He's not coming home tonight," Hotch answers in the same casual way, opening the passenger door for her.

Gillian is already leaning to get into the car and freezes, straightening up to turn to him and frowns, to seriously ask: "Are you really that hungry?"

"Not really. And I have some food in the fridge."

She takes a hand to his face, letting her smile slowly fade as she looks into his eyes. And Hotch holds up her eyes with a chill, seeing maybe for the first time all of her love for him, this deep mix of attraction, respect, affection, even admiration that she feels. For a moment he wonders if anybody has ever looked at him like this.

He tilts his head as he leans to her, and meets her lips as they close their eyes at the same time. Hotch drops his briefcase and her bag to take her in his arms, and feels her arm around his back, grasping to him as they kiss. For real this time, not the teasing game from a moment ago in the elevator. No hurry, no pressure, a slow, deep, gentle kiss, just to start telling each other all the things they'll never have words for.

She hides again her face against his neck with a shaky sigh. "Oh, Gosh, I love you…" she mutters, as he holds her tight and kisses her temple. Then she takes a breath deep and steps softly back. And Hotch smiles at finding again her eyes, a wet spark in them.

"So no dinning out tonight," she teases, trying to get her cool back.

"You're the guest, so it's your pick."

"No dinning out tonight."

Hotch nods with another smile.

On their way to Hotch's apartment, she explains in her plain, open way that before leaving Boston, Cruz put the fear of God into Cooper if she ever dared to insinuate a single objection to her transfer to DC. He also had a meeting with her team to try to sell them the idea of transferring with her. They're on the firm path to be the best counter-terrorism team of the whole bureau, and their place is in DC, not in some lost northern city. But as far as Gillian can tell, what actually worked on them was Cruz' hint that maybe she was keeping herself from being with Hotch on their behalf.

So the fear of God in Cooper and guilt on their team, Cruz pretty much polished her way into a slippery sledge from Boston to DC, ready for her to trip on and fall. And finally give in to what he's been asking her to do for months, not because he's a romantic soul trying to help star-crossed lovers, but because he wants her team in plain sight of the whole bureau, to use the TPU's achievements to flog the rest of the CT unit to work harder.

Once she found she had no more obstacles/excuses, she took a few more days to take on the worst battle: facing her own fears.

"And how did that go?" he asks.

"It didn't. I'm completely and absolutely terrified."

He sees her smile and smiles back. Time to move on from such deep waters, or she'll be jumping on a plane back to Boston as soon as they get out of the car.

"What was all that about a fantasy and my red tie?"

"You should ask Penelope," she giggles at his shocked scowl. "She noticed long ago that I have a thing for you in a dark suit with a red tie."

"Really."

"Yeap."

He glances down to remember what he's wearing.

"Black suit. One out of two is not that bad, considering I didn't get any notice."

"My favorite of your three black suits," she says, lowering her voice.

Ok, she's even keeping a list of his suits. And that's not flattery. His ego is enjoying the ride big.

"How's your arm?"

"Perfect."

"But you're still using the sling…"

She takes it out with a wink. "It's just to get a few more days of leave. Don't worry about me, agent Hotchner. I don't need handling with care."

He scoffs and takes her hand. "Agent Hotchner? Back to square one?"

"It's called panic."

"Square two. What are you afraid of?"

"First times…" she notices his frown and shrugs. "They usually suck."

"Well, thanks for the vote of confidence."

It's so easy, when they talk. They both know it, and yet it comes every time as a surprise.

Hotch opens the door to his apartment and slips a hand in to turn on the light, inviting her to come in first. He notices she takes two hesitating steps and pauses, and feels like hugging her and whispering in her ear how much he loves her. He'd like to take her hand, lead her to his room, and lay her down, to cuddle her in his arms and make love to her, slowly and gently until it's time for their first Wednesday breakfast.

But that will have to wait. First he needs to help her through her fear. And the best way to do that is kicking her into character. So no gentle lovemaking yet, he's afraid, but some teasing, maybe a little detached sex, to break the ice without so much emotional burden. Yet he realizes that this perspective is making his fingertips tell his stomach about anticipation tinkling.

So he drops to the floor both his briefcase and her bag and rounds her waist from behind, sticking to her back as he whispers in her ear:

"Come here, let's suck."

And she stiffens in his hold, as his tongue teases her ear. Then she rests her arm on his around her waist, tilting her head to expose her neck to him. He kisses it, feeling that she relaxes to stiffen again, but this time it's not out of awkwardness. He softly bites at the muscle running along her neck and her back unwillingly arches as she breathes sharply in.

He opens his other hand flat against her side and moves it firmly up. She lifts that arm, sending her hand to reach for his hair, eyes closed. He too closes his eyes when his hand cups her breast, a prick of heat lashing from his groin, kindly fed when her lips part with a shaky sigh as she arches against him again, pressing her breast to his hand.

She wants to turn around and kiss him, and rip away his clothes —well, no, not her favorite suit, and touch him. But she just can't, captivated by his tongue and his teeth toying along her neck, and the firm grip of his arm around her waist, and the way his hand is cupping her breast in slow circles.

All of a sudden he releases her, and grabs the lapels of her jacket to pull it out. Gillian spins on her heels and sinks her fingers into his hair, pulling him to her mouth. Hotch sticks to her, his hands now sliding down her back to her butt as he pushes her against his hips, and she lets out a muffled, husky sound at feeling his arousal.

Their breaths grow thicker as they keep kissing, and she wouldn't let him leave her mouth, taking him in deep, her tongue swirling against his in the exact way to make his groin throb as his hands bring her against him again.

Then he lets go of her butt to bring his hands to the buttons to her jeans. Because these tight jeans may look hot as hell on her, but right now they're starting to be sort of in the way.

She scoffs when he struggles against the hard fabric, still kissing her. Then he flashes an ironic smile —mocking me, really? He takes her hand, leading her to the couch and sits down on it, grabbing her hips to keep her standing right before him.

And Gillian stands there, mesmerized at how he slowly undoes the first button to her jeans and pulls out her shirt. He's as serious as if he were reading an unsub's file as he brushes up the bottom of the shirt and uncovers her navel. Then he brings her to stand between his legs and undoes the second button, uncovering now her underwear.

It's chocolate. Not white, not black, not that blue lace he had two glimpses at back in Tampa. It's the color of chocolate. And he slides his fingers over it, up to the smooth pale skin of her belly, his boxer becoming a real nuisance beneath his pants as he struggles to stay serious. And he undoes the third button, feeling Gillian's chill as she stays completely still, hands limp to her sides, those stunning blue eyes fixed on him, her breath escaping her parted lips.

Then he pulls the jeans down, and both of them breathe sharply in as Hotch's hands rolls them down to her ankles and he leans a little further to brush her thigh with his nose first, then with his lips, then with the tip of his tongue.

She suffocates a moan in the back of her throat and rests her hands on his shoulders to kick off her boots, while his hands travel up her legs to cup her butt, and she manages it to step out of her jeans despite of his hands pressing her against his mouth.

Gillian can't tell if she loves him or she hates him right now. The man's only removed her jacket and her jeans and he's got her knees turning to jelly and every of her nerves becoming over-sensitive.

Hotch trails with his mouth from her thigh up to her navel, and when she takes the bottom of her shirt to undo the lower buttons, he looks up at her slightly shaking his head. And fights back a smile when she scowls —no?

"One thing at a time," he calmly says, deploying years of authority in his voice.

"One thing…?" she repeats in a whisper.

"At a time," he nods. "Next time we're taking out your shirt."

Gillian's lips form a perfect "oh?", still scowling in disbelief, when he slips one finger inside the waist of her underwear and pulls it half an inch down, for his lips to continue his exploration. And his thumb softly brushes her groin over the underwear.

She suffocates another soft moan at his touch, taking quick account of:

* Underwear

* Shirt

* Tank top

* Bra

still to go until she can be actually undressed and she'll be damned if she stands this torture —the most delicious torture she can remember, though, for the kicks of him.

It's getting hard as hell to keep a grip on himself, now that he's tasting and touching her like this, but it's sure worth the burning throbs spreading to his thighs and belly. Gillian's skin is even smoother than he imagined, all of her vaguely smelling of herbs and lavender, and he can't quite believe how docile she's being.

Her phone rings from her jacket, dropped on the floor by the door, and she presses his shoulders to let her go.

"Hotch…" she mutters, as his hands cup her butt again to push her against his mouth. And even with her underwear on, she feels the prick of fire lashing all the way up to her throat, pushing her head back and her eyes closed.


	2. Chapter 2

He feels her tremble in his hands and takes in a deep hard breath, because he's not nearly done teasing her and he can hardly restrain himself.

Her phone stops ringing, and he's about to guide her to sit astride on top of him when his phone starts ringing.

He automatically fishes his pocket to pick the call and leans back, looking up at her with a deep breath as his other hand stays brushing the soft chocolate fabric of her underwear. This is going to happen more than once, one of their phones ringing when they're together, so they better get used to it from day one.

But she purses her lips in a mischievous smile and takes his hand in both of hers as she slowly kneels between his legs. Time for a Gillian payback.

"Chief Cruz…" he says, managing it to sound Hotchner-serious.

From where she is, she hears Cruz asking: "Hotch, do you happen to know why Gillian's not picking her phone? Does she happen to be there with you?"

"…" answer, Hotchner! "Yes, sir."

"Oh, ok, then she came to DC."

"Yes, sir."

Now, close up on Hotch's face. You see him like this and you could swear on your life he's listening with all of his attention to his Section Chief, scowling at the seriousness of the situation, eyes down as he's already thinking how they're going to save the world within the next ten minutes. His spotless shirt is buttoned all the way up and his gray tie is fastened to it in the Perfect Knot of the Year. It's the very image that turns the killers' dreams into bitter nightmares.

Good.

Now follow his eyes.

His absolutely enthralled watching —and mostly feeling Gillian. She's captured his hand and she's kneeling there between his legs, looking up straight at him as she slowly kisses every one of his fingers, curling her tongue around them and very softly pushing one into her mouth. And right now Hotch wishes his clothes would dematerialize as of five minutes ago.

"I need her settled here in DC asap, Hotch, so I hope you can lend a hand."

"Yes, sir, of course."

Now Gillian takes his hand to entwine his fingers in her own hair. Hotch scowls deeper when she unbuckles his belt and undoes his pants in no hurry.

"So can you help her pick a couple of apartments to check? You can direct her about the best parts of town for her to move in."

"Sure, sir."

"Good. Now about the seminar you and Rossi are giving in two weeks at…"

Cruz keeps talking as Hotch's head falls back against the top of the couch, and his hips move up on their own account, helping Gillian to push down his pants. Then he feels her hands sliding up his thighs and he closes his eyes. Gosh, he wants her so bad it hurts…

"…do you agree?"

"Yes, sir."

He really hopes he didn't just agree to donate his whole salary for a year to some cause. Whatever, right now he doesn't give a flying damn.

Gillian leans to him gently pulling up his shirt, just like did to her, and her wet, warm lips caress his belly, sending chills of pure pleasure all over his body. And her hands finish their endless travel up his thighs to his groin. Hotch clenches his teeth, while Cruz is talking about a case they had last month —you don't often get Hotch so prone to talk on the phone this late, so he's taking heed to kill several pending issues.

Gillian's fingers slide along his length, her hand flat against him, brushing oh so smooth his tense skin as her mouth keeps sliding down. And then, in a sudden assault, her hands and her lips capture him in a ring of pure fire that pulls his hips up as his fingers sink in her hair.

He vaguely registers a pause at the other end of the line and mutters: "Yes, sir."

Then he gives in to the warm caress of her tongue and the brushing touch of her hand, somehow matching the perfect pace he needs to feel this exquisite intoxication he's not about to get enough of in the next decades, feeding his need to a blinding extent, completely lost in her, not even noticing his own hips slowly pushing himself into her mouth.

"So…?" Cruz suddenly says. "Can I talk to Gillian now?"

"Sure, sir, give me minute."

He forces his head up and his eyes open to glance down at her, and gets lost for a heartbeat in watching her. A throbbing chill makes him shiver as she slowly slides her tongue all the way up the back of his length.

Then he softly lets go of her hair and slides his fingers down her face to her chin. Somehow he finds his voice to say: "Gillian, Chief Cruz…"

He feels the cold when she pulls back from him, flashing another mischievous smirk up at him as she takes the phone. Taking mental note that this is so not over, and that she's going to torture him like this so, so, so much more because he just can't be so damn hot to tease, driving her crazy with every gentle thrust of his hips and every breath he holds back at her touch.

But as she takes the phone to her ear, it becomes Hotchner's payback time.

Reid would need a dozen boards of equations to prove it's physically possible, because Gillian's hardly said: "Sir, sorry I didn't get my phone in time to-"

And Hotch's already kicked off his shoes, stepped out of his pants and boxers, grabbed and pulled down her underwear in a single move and circled her waist with his arm.

Cruz says: "It's ok, don't worry. I'm glad you finally made up your mind."

And Hotch is already sitting her astride on top of him, his arm tight around her waist and his other hand to his groin. He looks up at her, watching her lips part in a soundless moan, her eyes fluttering, feeling exactly the same he feels: the fire blazing up their every nerve as he guides her down and lifts his hips, thrusting into her so slowly as to take the rest of the night at this single move.

Her head falls back as she takes a hand to her mouth, eyes tightly shut. And Hotch fights to keep looking up at her, feeling her warmth pressing on him, sending waves of heat and pleasure and need all over his body, and feeling her shiver and right about to drop the phone.

Then she lowers her head and meets his eyes, her piercing blue eyes blurry in need as well, lips parted and dry. Her hand rests on his face as he grabs her hips and pushes her slightly up and then down on him again. Her fingers slide down her face to his mouth as she finds her voice to say, eyes fixed on him:

"Sir, you know I still can't drive, so I was wondering…" she closes her eyes when his hips slowly thrust up again. "If you could give agent Hotchner a personal day…" she pauses to noiselessly breath deep. "To show me around and help me to pick…"

Hotch is lost in this delicious fire burning him inside, but he's also having a great time at driving her crazy, and watching how she's working her magic on the phone even when she can hardly control herself. He cups her breast and gently presses, narrowing his eyes with a little smile. And she can't help to arch her back, head back again, her hips now slowly moving on their own accord.

He hears Cruz mocking chuckle on the phone and that he says: "Tell Hotch I don't wanna see him around till Friday. Happy honey-moon, Gillian. Oh, and maternity leaves are cancelled, so you better watch your step as he shows you around."

"Thanks, sir."

She just drops the phone, right now incapable of anything but to match the excruciatingly slow pace Hotch is forcing her to keep, as his hips push him further and further inside of her, and all of her physical senses become only touch, and she needs to gasp for air every time his thumb brushes her nipple as his hand presses her breast, and a spear of fire is piercing its way up inside of her right from her belly.

"Friday…?" Hotch gasps, thinking he's still in shape to tease her.

But Gillian can't answer. His bare voice is a pull and she looks down at him, everything else blurry around him, and she dives onto him, throwing her arms around his shoulders as her mouth pushes his lips open and her tongue meets his.

And that's the end of any dream of self-control for both of them. Hotch braces her back and entwines his fingers in her hair as they kiss deeper and deeper, and she pulls up from him to fall down again as soon as she senses his hips coming up to meet her, moving also back and forth, in rubbing circles that take the best of them.

Then he pushes her with his own chest and turns with her in his arms, laying her flat back on the couch. He pushes her now with his hips, always thrusting inside of her, till her head is at the other end of the couch and he has room for his legs on it. And as he thrusts harder into her, she quickly unfastens his tie, throws it away and manages it to undo most of his shirt. She would've gone all the way to the last button, but he seeks her lips again, both of them heavily breathing into each other's mouth. She sinks her fingers in his hair locking her legs around his waist, and pushes him even deeper in, arching her back beneath him with a soft moan.

The sound of her voice, the tension of her muscles around him, pressing on him, the throbbing fire burning him inside. That's the exact formula that pushes Hotch over the edge. And as he thrusts the deepest and the hardest inside of her, she feels like that burning spear inside of her reaches her lungs and blazes away any air left, and all of her body stiffens to a painful extent, tightening even more around until a wave of pure fire swells from his body onto her, and another, and another, blinding her.

She hears Hotch's husky growls by her ear and all she can do is hold on tight to him, and his arms slip beneath her back to hold her back as he thrusts deeper than ever and freezes, his hips tight against her, his smell, this unique scent of his cologne combined with his skin that she knows so well, filling her nose as he lets out a deep, shaky breath that falls on her skin. Her belly aches at the tension her muscles are in, just like her arched back, and air doesn't seem to find its way to her lungs. Then she lets out a weary moan, her body shivering from head to toes, and Hotch holds her even tighter in his arms. And that's exactly what she needs to breathe in again, and allow her body to start to relax.

Slowly back from all these raw physical sensations, like until now he wasn't completely aware or convinced, Hotch finally realizes that it's really her. It's been hardly over an hour since he found her in his office, and it seems like only now he's actually able to take in that the woman softly shivering in his arms, while he still lingers inside of her, is her, Gillian, Regan Gillian. Here, with him.

Then he pulls himself a little up, only enough to face her, and meets those striking blue eyes, looking up at him as a silent tear of pure emotion rolls down into her dark hair. And it's like they're looking at each other for the very first time, feeling the irresistible pull that overcame their toughest resistance to bring them together.

Both of them try to find something to say, and fail. Her thousand dreams of him are crap compared to a real moment in his arms, because he's so much better, and so much human and so much strong and frail at the same time, and so much deep. And she's so much more than he ever dared to imagine, and she needs him just as much as she makes him strong, and she's willing to dare the world to be with him, and he doesn't care anymore what it may take to be with her. And again, the best of all is that this is just the beginning.

He smiles down at her, softly brushing her hair off her face, wishing he had words for what he's feeling. And that simple gesture triggers such a deep emotion in her that he sees her eyes get full of tears as she smiles back at him. And she doesn't give him chance to ask what or why. She caresses his face saying:

"Promise me it will always suck like this."

"I'm afraid that from now it only gets worse."

"Ok, if this is what sucks, worse is perfect."

"A bite?"

"Can I actually take my clothes off and take a shower?"

"No."

"No?"

"Not without me."

"Ok, but you're cooking. I'm the guest, you said"

Hotch gently pulls up from her and helps her to sit up. They look at each other and chuckle, because in the rush of hormones everything may feel hot, but after that, they're half-dressed, and sweated, and disheveled, and they look plain funny.

"Friday?" he asks, grabbing his boxers and handing her the underwear from the floor.

"Yeap."

He stands up shaking his head, pulling up the boxers. "How do you do it? I've been asking him for one personal day for two months now."

She goes to stand on her tiptoes to kiss him.

"He wonders exactly the same about you, you know?" and she imitates Cruz dry ways faking a scowl. "C'mon, Gillian! How does he do it to have you eating from his hand like this! He can't be that good in bed!"

They pick the rest of their clothes from the floor and stroll to the bathroom.

"Did he really ask you that?"

"More than once."

"And what did you tell him?"

"I just smirked, you know how, feeding the urban legend about you —don't think he's only a scowl and a brain. What was I to tell him? I don't know, I only have my wet dreams about him?"

"Come again?"

She stops right at the door and slams her hand open against his chest, pushing him back and closing the bathroom door between them.

"Forget I ever said that!" she says from inside the bathroom.

Hotch tries the door: it's looked.

"Weren't we taking a shower together?"

"Changed my mind."

"C'mon, Gillian, open the door," he sighs, hands to his hips.

No answer, he knocks. "C'mon, let me in."

No answer, and the sound of the shower.

Then he purses his lips in a little smile and says, savoring every sound of it:

"Regan, please…"

The door is wide open before he finishes and Gillian throws her arms around his neck to kiss him. Hotch manages it to keep the balance as he holds her tight, kissing her back. Then she pushes away from him with a bright happy smile, grabs his wrist and yanks him into the bathroom, closing the door.


End file.
